


Sweetheart, You're Looking for Trouble

by potentialfordisaster



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Attempt at Dirty Talk, Chris desperate for a piece of him, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Hitman Chris, M/M, Rimming, Tom is seventeen, Voyeurism, naughty tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentialfordisaster/pseuds/potentialfordisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is a hitman assigned to kill Tom's father, but if he thought the man's 17 year old son would be no distraction he had another thing coming.</p><p>* Now with epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is one of my hiddlesworths with at least a resemblance of not needing to be so enormous. I've always liked the idea of Chris being big and evil and Tom too eager for his own good and now here it is! I'd like to thank sheilatakesabow - I'll tag her as soon as I find out how - for being such a supportive friend and encouraging my endeavours even though I still have a lot on my plate. Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, I have a bad habit of not reviewing what I write and English is not my mother language. That said, I hope you enjoy :)

The light of Chris' last cigarette faded and left him with its diminished butt. He clicked his tongue, throwing it in the passenger seat carelessly. A movement outside caught his eye and Chris leaned forward, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His black minivan was perfectly camouflaged against the dark, nightly sky, which meant the curly haired boy that exited the two-store mansion Chris had been assigned to watch didn't notice him parked at the other side of the street.

 

Chris knew who he was, the Hiddleston's boy. Thomas William was his name, 17 year old, went to school at 7 am, always biting at an apple while throwing himself at the backseat of his car, greeting Mr Smith, the family's driver, through the rearview mirror. He came back at 5 pm, though he had a different schedule on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, his rugby practice. His sisters' schedule was more incovenient for Chris to keep track, but he found himself more interested in Tom's anyway. The boy had a way of walking, of laughing, that was entrancing, sometimes Chris could swear he saw him swinging his hips after coming out of the car, walking to the door slowly, pausing before entering to stretch his neck and look somewhere at Chris' opposite side, as if _posing_ for him.

 

Now Tom was leaving for theater, and this Chris knew because he had all their telephone lines tapped. He had listened to Tom's eloquent and velvety voice last night as he and Ben, his best friend, agreed to meet for a play, _The Merchant of Venice_. Chris had endured twenty minutes of theater talk involving the plot and characters only so he could listen to Tom's sinful voice.

 

Chris knew he was diverging from his job's true purpose, but he was unused to finding himself a distraction while at work. He still watched Tom's father, though, the tall man that would go to work after Tom had left for school, looking up and down the street with a hard face to disguise his true fears. Mr Hiddleston returned from work at 7 pm. On Fridays, Mrs Hiddleston and Tom's two sisters, Sarah and Emma, left for some social meeting, and Mr Hiddleston would return to an empty house, or sometimes just barely two minutes before they left, waving goodbye by the front door and looking the street up and down again before closing the door. Tom would arrive some time later, usually thirty or forty-five minutes, his curls would be wet and a darker shade of blond, carrying his practice bag over one shoulder. There was that one time when he came home without changing his uniform, and that night Chris jerked off in the minivan with the vision of endless, pale legs under a white short behind his eyelids.

 

Chris' sexual obsession with the kid aside, he planned to make his move on a Friday, after the women had left and Mr Hiddleston was all alone in his big house; and who knows, perhaps if he took long enough Tom could arrive and he could finally have a taste of the kid.

 

~*~

 

Tom came back at half past eleven, hugging his coat closer to himself. Chris had parked the minivan a few feet closer to their house while Tom was absent, permitting himself a better watch as the night grew darker. He hadn't expected the kid to take so long and now, in the back of his mind, Chris pondered who'd let a boy that pretty outside so late.

 

Tom stood at the door and fiddled with his keys as Chris watched, unimpressed. The boy was stepping inside when he turned around suddenly, face pale under the low light afforded.

 

Chris froze. Tom was looking right back at him, he was sure of it. He stood there for a second longer before stepping inside, not looking surprised or deadly scared as Chris would have imagined a boy his age would be by seeing a hitman practically on his doorstep.

 

Two minutes went by, Chris' muscles tense as he waited for any sign indicating he had been discovered. He shouldn't have parked so close to their house, it was a mistake, Tom noticed. Chris had his hand firm around the hand brake, prepared to drive off if necessary. If Tom hadn't entered the house he could have captured the boy. Perhaps then his father would cooperate and pay the mafia his debt once Chris sent some videos of him having some fun with his boy. But now wasn't the time to think about that.

 

A light flicked on, Chris' eyes turning to watch as high curtains were drawn aside, the yellow glow of the light illuminating the room's insides, half of a tidy bed visible. Chris frowned as Tom's silhouette appeared. What was the boy doing? Was he trying to watch Chris?

 

Tom had on a blue sweater, his coat having been taken off somewhere on the trajectorybetween front door and bedroom. He stood in front of the window, the full extension of his body perfectly visible and sinuous. Chris flicked his eyes back to the minivan's backseat, full of cables and guns. He could get a shot straight into the boy's head with his sniper, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Lord forbid him to ruin such beauty.

 

Tom turned his back to the window, fingers tugging on the hem of his sweater to pull it over his head. Chris frowned, leaning forward, what the fuck was he planning? There was a white, thin undershirt beneath the sweater that Tom pulled up too, and it was important to notice that until then Chris still had no idea of what was going on. It was only when Tom threw the shirt on the floor and turned to look over his shoulder, with that clear, classical look of someone who knew that he was being watched, that Chris got it. He couldn't, however, process the words fast enough, for before he blinked, Tom turned back, fingers going to his front and- _ohmygod, he was taking his trousers off, he was putting on a show for Chris_.

 

“Shit,” Chris whispered, trying to look around himself for his cellphone without looking away. Tom slid his trousers down slowly, bending at the waist and swinging his hips with every pull. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Chris cursed, eyes fixed on the boy's bedroom window. His hands fumbled around for his phone without the aid of vision, grabbing a half-eaten Doritos and his stack of munition before finding the cold metal surface. Chris accessed the camera app automatically and glued it on the window, zooming it to its maximum.

 

“Holy fuck!” Chris shouted, eyes widening. _Was that a thong?_

 

Chris laughed, not believing his luck. It was a thong! A black, lace thong between Tom's perfect ass cheeks. He wore that to the theater! That cunning, naughty nymph, had he planned that? So he knew Chris had been watching them for days.

 

Chris groaned, eyes fogging with want. His phone was recording everything, but it was not enough. Tom stood now with nothing but his thong on, leaning a hand on his hip to look back at Chris. So sinful, so delicious... He was teasing Chris, he knew it, he wanted Chris to go up there and fuck him, to tear that piece of cloth from his body with his teeth.

 

“Fuck, baby, come on.” Chris goaded, hand hurriedly trying to unbuckle his belt singlehandedly, heart racing, cock filling oh so quickly it was almost impossible, breath fogging the window.

 

Tom winked at him, or at least, at the general direction of the minivan, as Chris was sure he couldn't very well make out his facein this darkness. Did he show himself to any stranger that parked in front of his house at night? Oh, Chris would teach him a lesson.

 

Chris slid his zipper down, hand fumbling until he wrapped his fist around his cock, hissing at the contact. It was uncomfortable and dry so he spit on his palm to make it better, eyes glued on Tom's backside, at the tiny arsehole that the damn thong hid so badly. He wished he could shove his cock in there so much, to watch Tom whimper, Tom writhing and taking it all, those supple and long legs wrapped around him. Gods, Chris would lick him everywhere.

 

Tom giggled, looking like a demon and a angel with that fucking head of blond curls, Chris wanted to grip that hair and make him suck his cock, wanted it so much he was afraid he'd never want something so much in his whole life. Chris grunted, throwing his head back, hips bucking up into his fist, thumb sliding over the head to smear the precome. He didn't want to shut his eyes because he couldn't let Tom out of his sight, the little minx blowing him a kiss and walking out of frame.

 

“No, no, come back, no, no, baby.” Chris pleaded, not really caring about how ridiculous he must look like that. He still gripped his cellphone tightly in his other hand but now the camera recorded nothing of interest. Tom still didn't show up and Chris groaned, increasing his fist's pace to reach his climax, thinking about that boy, how he'd clutch him mercilessly, how he'd fuck his little arsehole over his father's desk while the old man was away, how Tom would beg for it, would cry for more, that little perfect mouth of his moaning underneath him.

 

His orgasm knocked the breath out of him, cellphone falling with a hollow sound, Chris not having really the time to think about how this was a bad idea until ribbons of seed clung to his jacket and shirt, no doubt staining the black cloth. Chris panted and laughed, feeling sweat pooling at the end of his back, the interior of the car umid and heavy. Jesus, that kid would be the death of him.

 

~*~

 

Chris' job now ran in parallel to his other, sexual motivations, which meant he was as invested on killing Mr Hiddleston as he was in fucking his son senseless. When the family was sleeping or nothing important was happening, Chris would watch the video again, admonishing himself for not having recorded since the beginning, wanting the full effect of the striptease. He also took the time to admire Tom's body in a way he hadn't been able to the other night, watching his lean but defined muscles as he moved, his pale back and bony elbows, all the while listening to his own gasps and taunts on the video.

 

Chris tried not to think himself unprofessional, he was just stuck on that phase that was previous to action, which was rational thinking. And Chris now did a lot of rational thinking, for example, which underwear colour would look better on Tom, white, red or the thong's black? How many freckles did he have? And the hardest: which bodyparts of Tom he prefered: his thighs, his ass or his legs? The latter was a question he couldn't decide himself over, spending half of a day just thinking about it until he realized he hadn't included Tom's mouth or his blond curls into the question. He also jerked off on a frequency that defied his teenager years. Chris could feel bags forming under his eyes and found that he was even more irritable than usual, considering just shooting Tom's dad in open plain and taking the boy for himself.

 

Tom now made a routine out of teasing him, coming back from rugby practice with his sweaty uniform, throwing his phone on the ground on the way to the door just so he could bend to retrieve it, perfect ass pointed in the air, eyes finding Chris' position on the street no matter how far he was, biting his lip or winking or smirking. He was driving Chris crazy and he knew it, possibly basked on that knowledge.

 

But the days passed with no action and Chris could feel them weighing him down. Today, Tuesday, no rugby practice, his cellphone rang and Chris heard a mouthful out of his employer for not having done anything until now. Being nothing if not resourceful, Chris used his charms and persuasive voice to explain his plan, rambling the family's schedule on a high speed and difficult vocabulary until the man backed down and sounded less abrasive and more intimidated, just the way Chris liked.

 

It was established that he'd make his move this Friday, so Chris took some time out of the high-class neighborhood and went to restore his minivan with junk food, stopping at the gym to burn his sexual frustration out. He returned in the late afternoon after having painted the minivan another colour, a barely visible deep blue.

 

Chris knew he wouldn't forgive himself if Tom did something naughty again and he wasn't there to see it. For that, he parked a little more by the corner, a line of trees hiding the car better but also affording him a nice view of Tom's bedroom window.

 

He was wondering if Tom would notice him there when the light of the boy's bedroom flicked on, Chris quickly sitting straight, the seat's leather rustling under the movement. Like on the other night, the curtains were drawn aside until Tom stood there, perfect and beautiful, Chris'lips stretching on a smile despite himself.

 

“Hello, baby.” He whispered inside the minivan, watching as Tom searched the street until his eyes zeroed in on Chris, frowning slightly before smiling assuredly. Chris laughed in response as Tom happily turned around, his delectable ass almost glued to the glass. Chris doesn't remember how many times he had thanked whoever was the ruler of this world for Tom's high window.

 

Tom had just a plaid blue shirt today, quickly ridding himself of it and turning around to face Chris, his nipples rosy and puffy, trim waist with a slender belly and a cute navel. Chris tried not to salivate and just reached into his pocket for his cellphone.

 

Tom smirked and pinched a nipple, Chris groaning and adjusting his crotch. Tom turned again, this time purposefully plastering his back on the glass, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down just as he had last time, Chris waiting with bated breath for the wonder underneath. Would it be the same thong? Was it the only pair Tom owned?

 

But Chris was happily surprised to see that no, it wasn't the same thong, Tom owned a pair of white, almost see-through panties, red little bows on each side of his hip.

 

Chris wanted to cry, his cock already in hand to get started, watching with heavy eyelids as Tom pushed his ass into the glass, the mounds of flesh looking bigger than usual as Chris worked himself with more force than necessary.

 

Tom skimmed his hands down his own body, looking over his shoulder in a one-eyed stare, biting his lip wantonly until Chris was forced to open the bottle of lube he had hesitantly bought today while grocery shopping. He was tired of recording it, prefering to just go with the moment and letting his phone hit the car's floor.

 

He didn't know for how long Tom stood there, rubbing against the glass and opening his mouth in what were moans Chris was mad for not being able to hear. What he knew was that, just like last time, Tom stopped to give him a lewd look before blowing an adoring kiss, tugging the curtains to close them back again.

 

Chris groaned at the loss of his muse, focusing on his own pleasure. This time he imagined what Tom's moans would sound like, next to his ear, his wet and eager mouth closing over Chris' earlobe, biting down. He imagined the warmth of his lithe body as Chris rammed into him, how he'd look up at him adoringly, all of his curls bouncing with the movement. He imagined him coming inside those ridiculous panties, clenching around Chris' hot cock, milking him dry until Chris fucked him again and again and again and-

 

Chris came loudly, head thumping back on the seat, hips fucking up wildly until his hands were wet and warm with cum. Through the aftershocks he saw Tom's lips licking him clean, pretty little tongue coming out to taste him and say how he'd love to have all that seed stuffed inside him.

 

Chris was completely slumped against his seat, panting like he had run a marathon, limp cock still in hand when he heard a knock on his window.

 

His eyes widened impossibly, hands shoving his cock inside his trousers, turning to look at-

 

Tom.

 

Up close he was even more beautiful, possibly the most gorgeous and stunning creature Chris had ever seen. His eyes were of a light blue, wrinkling at the corners as he smiled knowingly; his eyelashes were long and clear, just barely fanning over his cheeks as he looked down at Chris' lap predatorily. His nose was pointy like a fairy's, lips thin and rosy; his face seemed aglow even with the poor lighting and his curls looked soft, like something Chris would like to bury his nose in forever.

 

Chris cleaned his hands as best as he could with a few tissues he had left on the center console for that reason exactly, looking up with all the dignity he could muster and comanding the window down. What had this kid reduced him – a high-class hitman – to?

 

Tom was wearing his coat, tugging it closed with both hands while he bent to the window's height. Chris couldn't very well stick his face outside to see his feet but he had an idea that he was wearing nothing but those pretty panties underneath. The thought made his blood boil because they were less than five centimeters away from each other and it seemed unfair that Chris couldn't tug him inside the minivan and have his awaited way with him.

 

“Hi.” Tom said, lips curling to form the words only to go back to that sly smile.

 

His voice was the same Chris had listened to countless times via tapped telephone, and only now the true fear settled in that in those cheerful, mirthful eyes, Tom knew exactly what his job was and exactly what he had been wanting to achieve by spying on them.

 

Chris could do nothing but use his charms, supporting his elbow on the windowsill to reply with a cocky smirk, “Hi.”

 

Tom giggled in response, leaning a bit forward. He smelled divine, like soap and clean little boy Chris couldn't wait to ruin. “So,” Tom said, “You seem to like this neighborhood a lot.” He smirked, eyes boring into Chris' with all the audacity of someone who knew too much.

 

Chris' cocky grin slid a fraction, not exactly feeling cornered by a 17 year old boy but having not thought on how to give a proper excuse to his suspicious behavior. A bitter mistake, it seemed, for he should've given thought to all scenarios, but in his profession if something like this happened you could just punch the person in the face and silence them with a well-aimed shot. In Chris' case, he wasn't looking forward to killing Tom. Not before having something of his before.

 

So Chris shrugged amicably, “I like who lives in here a lot better.”

 

Tom blushed, he absolutely _blushed_ , and looked down quickly before letting out a short, breathy laugh.

 

Chris wanted to eat him whole.

 

For a moment they just stared at each other, both knowing all too well what was going on between them. Tom hadn't suddenly felt the unquenchable desire to talk some stranger up, just as Chris hadn't suddenly felt like being amicable to the first little face that appeared at the other side of his window.

 

Tom's eyes lost some of its mirth then, smile still in place though it now borrowed him a cold and evil look. “My father has been targeted by the mafia before, dear hitman.” He said, like it was nothing, like mafias and dads walked alongside each other since the earth was what it was, like hitmen stepped into his doorstep to have breakfast with the family and pet the dog. “So you don't have to be shy.” He added with a wink. “You're not the first to guard our street.”

 

Chris, however, managed not to express his surprise, though he felt something piercing him for being so at the mercy of a kid. “I believe I'm not the first to watch your little shows either.” He said, trying not to imagine Tom rubbing himself on the glass for other, stranger men. “Nice panties.” He complimented, for he now wanted to get a rise out of Tom if the boy had, indeed, fucked previous hitmen to spare his father's fate.

 

Tom laughed, the nice laugh Chris liked, the one where he shut his eyes and inclined his head back. “Thank you, but no, you're the first I perform to.” He said, eyes darting pointedly to Chris' lap. “I'm glad you seem to have enjoyed it so.”

 

No seveteen year old boy should be that smart or that assured of himself, Chris thought, but before he could intone his words or flirt more heavily to try and get lucky, Tom cut him to it.

 

“I have a deal I wish to make with you, and you only. It does not involve my panties being taken off to guarantee my father's safety, if that's what you were thinking about,” Tom said, leaning until his body was pressed against Chris' door. “It involves me and you,” He whispered, Chris not escaping his magnetic attraction even if he wanted to – which he didn't – and leaning closer to feel his warm breath on his face as Tom continued whispering. “And possibly, me getting into my father's safe to pay us some _debts_.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, my evil spawn! And [this](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=65037797) is Tom's “outfit” for the day. I hope you like it as much as Chris did.

 

Tom had first noticed him one week ago.

 

He was in the minivan that parked on their street, under a shadow, beside a tree, behind the neighbor's high bushes. For any other person perhaps it wouldn't be noticeable, but Tom, for all his observance, considered them all poor attempts at hiding. Having witnessed this sort of behaviour before, Tom was one day away from warning his father when he accidentaly caught sight of the man. It had been on a warm Wednesday, Tom arriving from rugby a little later than usual as his coach decided to add some more exercises that had his legs cramping. Tom had returned home sweaty and dirty, his uniform still clinging to him as he exited the car. He had taken a long shower before going back to his room to properly dress himself, little drops of water that clung to his curls falling over his shoulders and back as he hummed a tune under his breath, drawing the curtains aside to watch the street, looking for that black minivan again.

 

Tom had seen him, the tall silhouette shutting the minivan's door, walking a few feet away to light a cigarette, the light of a lamp post illuminating his face and making Tom gasp.

 

Wow, hello, handsome.

 

The hitman – because he was a hitman and Tom knew it - had electric blue eyes, the sort that glinted under the light. He had dark blond hair and a beard Tom'd bet would leave the loveliest burns on his chin and collarbone; his shoulders were broad and the shirt he wore did little to hide the definition and the size of his muscles. There was no way someone could look at him and not think about sex. He was a sight, handsome and powerful _,_ Tom's lower belly heating when tracking his path with his eyes. He looked troubled, bordering on a tension that had his brows lowering, every puff of smoke leaving his mouth with an elegant violence. The man was _dangerous_ and Tom was _curious_.

 

It was easy, then. Tom couldn't know if he was as aroused as Tom was by him, but this sort of reciprocity was not something you waited for, you either guessed it right or you guessed it wrong, and Tom, well, he felt _eyes_ on him, and modesty aside, he wasn't usually wrong.

 

~*~

 

Friday came with a slowness that had Chris moody with sexual frustration the entire week. And Tom didn't help. Even after they both agreed with their plan, or rather, Tom's plan, the boy still couldn't help a last tease, not leaving Chris' side without whispering some dirty things in his ear, lewd promises that had him aching, Tom stepping away when Chris lunged to snatch him up, running back to his house with a playful grin over his shoulder, leaving Chris with another problem in his hands and not having the kindness of coming back to relieve him. Chris had gazed longingly at his retreating form, not believing he would go another day without him. Those damn gazelle legs.

 

On Thrusday night, Tom came back, looking back at the house from over his shoulder. He said his mother had the habit of keeping an eye on him and slid to Chris' side of the door with the most serious face Chris had ever seen him wearing.

 

“I'll be back by five thirty. Mom and the girls will be in and I'll tell them my coach had a family problem and there was no rugby practice,” he had whispered, sending another hurried look over his shoulder before continuing, “I'll make something up to get them out of the house earlier than usual.” Chris had nodded, understanding perhaps half of the sentence as he was too busy watching Tom's lips. “And then you can come in.” Tom finished, leaning over quickly to set a moist peck on his cheek before running back to his house. Chris tried not feel so affected and failed.

 

So now, Friday, five thirty, Chris waited calmly inside the minivan. Tom had gotten inside the house not one minute before, climbing the stairs that led to the door with hurried steps, ignoring Chris completely.

 

The weather was cloudy and windy, a perfect excuse for his heavy attire, knit cap and gloves. Based on his and Tom's plan there would be no use for a gun today but Chris, being who he was and working like he worked, wouldn't risk it, loading his favourite pistol with practiced ease and putting it in the back of his jeans, the wools of his sweater hiding the bunch pretty well. With a lopsided smirk, he also shoved some condoms and his bottle of lube on his back pocket.

 

Chris drove the minivan to an adjacent street, prefering not to draw attention to himself today, exiting the car and locking it up. He walked back to Tom's house slowly, gaze lowered and fists shoved inside his pockets. The streets were deserted, mansions lining each side of them, looking big and far away.

 

Chris hid behind a tree when he arrived at his destination, keeping one eye out and squinting to see the front of Tom's house. It didn't take too long and suddenly the main door opened, Tom's mother stepping outside first and looking back at Tom, who stood by the threshold. They talked, mouths moving over words Chris couldn't hear, and not two seconds later Emma and Sarah appeared from behind Tom, following their mother out before the woman bent to kiss her son's forehead, saying something else as Tom nodded. They got inside the family's car, Mr Smith looking a little surprised but getting into the driver's side dutifully. Tom waved goodbye like a little behaved son would, smiling prettily and leaning against the door.

 

As the sound of the car's engine got farther and farther away, Chris stepped out from behind the tree, taking cautious steps forward until he stepped into the sidewalk opposite Tom's. The boy looked at him and smiled, and Chris waited until the car took a right turn to cross the street, eyes scanning the surroundings for any passerbys or onlookers. There were none but still Chris made his way hastily, going two steps at a time. Tom smiled smartly up at him before Chris snaked an arm around his waist, Tom yelping as he was met with Chris' chest, turning his face away on the last second, Chris ending up planting a noisy kiss on his cheek.

 

“Not so fast, darling.” Tom whispered, giggling. “Dad's business first and then _our_ business.” He promised, escaping his embrace, both hands tugging Chris by the neckline of his sweater and into the house. Chris groaned in protest but followed, eyes darting everywhere around the house.

 

It was huge, as predicted. Chris had invaded houses like this before but now he found himself paying close attention to every detail. Every meticulously polished hardwood tile, every crystal chandelier, every furniture had him reminding himself that this was Tom's house, this was where Tom had lived in during his whole life.

 

“Come on.” Tom urged, tugging on Chris' gloved hand to pull him further inside the house. They went through vast rooms with precious paintings hanging off the walls, decorated tapestries and high windows. On his opinion, though, the most beautiful adornment was the shape and movement of Tom's ass inside his jeans as he walked ahead of him, pulling Chris' hand closer to lead him toward a narrow hallway. Chris bit his lip and tried to resist temptation as Tom started speaking. “Dad's office is right here. He doesn't really allow us into this part of the house, which is ridiculous.”, he snorted.

 

Chris hummed in response, eyes lifting quickly to now get a good look around as Tom continued to pull him.

 

“You don't have to lead me by my hand.”, Chris murmured, amused that Tom would be so insistent on having him so close.

Tom sent him a naughty look from over his shoulder. “I'll lead you by your cock, then.” He replied, smirking but letting go of his hand.

 

They now stood before the hallway's last door, Tom coming up with a small silver key from inside his pocket, looking up at Chris with huge eyes before placing a taunting kiss on the key's ridges.

 

Chris groaned, growing hotter by the second, his clothes now a bother more than an utility. Tom turned to insert the key in its lock and Chris leaned his weight forward, cornering him against the door's wood, nuzzling the pale line of his throat, his scent intoxicating. Tom startled and shrieked, laughing sweetly while trying to push Chris away and open the door.

 

Chris secured Tom's thin waist with both hands, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, Tom shivering before opening the door, darting away from him. Chris groaned and followed him inside.

 

The room was refined but simple, containing a large mahogany desk and bookshelves. Chris stepped inside carefully, instincts taking over as he scanned every nook and crevice for a camera, a microphone, any device that could record an evidence. Tom hurried to kneel by the bottom of a bookshelf, opening an unsuspicious cabinet and smiling.

 

Chris came to stand behind him and bent to look inside. A square, solid and steely safe was kept inside, an analogical lock the only tool to open it.

 

“Right. Now we only have to discover the password.” Tom mumbled, splaying both hands over the safe and leaning forward as if the password was written on its surface.

 

“What? You don't know the password?” Chris burst. Tom had come up with all that plan, fooled his mother and sister into leaving only to drag Chris inside but had no idea what the password was!

 

Tom turned to give him a funny look, probably waving it away as he finally went back to analyzing the safe. Chris watched his head of blond curls, ducked and leveled with the lock. Chris' eyes were drawn back to Tom's neck, where he had just kissed.

 

If worst came to worst, Chris thought, feeling the angular shape of his gun pressing against his back, he would have to make Tom his hostage until his father arrived. He was hired to kill and this was a clear deviation from his job. And Tom, delicious though he may be, would end up without one of his parents today if he wasn't able to set his plan into motion properly. Perhaps he could fuck the boy in front of his father before using his gun for its true purpose.

 

Tom hummed in thought while Chris walked around and inspected the room. Everything looked clean and pristine, books aligned in alphabetical order, pens kept in a sleek case above the desk, diplomas encased in smooth glass hanging on the walls. There two picture frames over the desk and Chris went around it to take a closer look. One portrayed Tom's family, the picture probably taken in the garden behind the house, Tom's mother and father sitting in a low bench, Emma and Sarah hanging on their sides, Tom in the center and behind them, his hair down and combed, tamed at last. The other picture frame contained a photo of Tom's father standing next to several men, all sharply dressed in black suits, directly in front of what appeared to be a tall building. Chris narrowed his eyes and studied their faces, a wrinkled and small man standing by the back attracting his attention. Chris was sure he had seen that man before, and he was very, very good with faces.

 

The sound of the lock turning woke him from his thoughts, and Chris rounded the desk to stand by Tom again. The boy was biting his lip, totally focused on the task at hand, long fingers rotating the lock preciously. He finished with a practical downturn and looked up at Chris before opening the door, hinges moving soundlessly as they both sucked in a breath to see the piles of money laying inside.

 

They stood in silence for a while before Tom gave a short, unimpressed snort. “The dates of our births. Not so smart, dad.”

 

He made it! Tom made it, he wasn't just beautiful, he had a brain. My pretty genius, Chris thought, chest warm with pride. Chris laughed, eyeing the money and trying to calculate its value according to the safe's width and depth. Tom, kneeling, with hands folded over his lap, extended his neck, Chris catching the glint in his eyes and bending to receive his kiss, sweet, victorious and right on the lips, no mistaking now.

 

They separated with complice looks, Tom smiling and winking. The boy looked back at the money and sighed, reaching out to take a pile. He analyzed the notes with deft fingers, taking two other piles and handing them to Chris. “My father's debt.” He said. “I believe it more than pays for it.”

 

Chris raised his eyebrows, arms full of money. It had worked. Tom's plan had worked. Chris wouldn't need to kill his father now and his employer would be more than satisfied for getting the debt paid along with a considerable bonus.

 

Tom shut the safe's door, a heavy click signaling the lock being put back into place. He shut the cabinet and rose, resting his hands on Chris' shoulders. “You keep a part for you.” Tom whispered, giving Chris _those_ _eyes_. “We wouldn't want you to have wasted your time in our doorstep for no payback.”

 

Beautiful. Tom was pure gold. Genius, genius. Jesus, would he marry Chris? Because this was definitely husband material.

 

Tom seemed to have sensed his admiration for him, which wasn't particularly a difficulty if Chris' hanging mouth was noticeable. Tom winked, standing on his tip toes to give Chris another kiss, which the older man received gladly, lips smashing together, Chris nibbling on his bottom lip until Tom gave out, tongue poking inside the boy's mouth, to taste, to feel.

 

Chris wanted to grab the back of his head, change the angle, go deeper, but found it a much too difficult action while still keeping the money on his arms. Tom, for noticing his discomfort or for sharing his desires, or maybe for both reasons, skimmed his hands down to his chest and tried to push him away, Chris resisting and sucking on the boy's tongue relentlessly until the pressure grew too strong and he let him go.

 

Tom was panting, mouth wet and red. His eyelids were low, tiny speckles of blue pushed away by his dilated pupil, looking at him as if Chris was some sort of deity, palms open against his chest. “I'll get you a bag for this money.” He whispered, his breath over Chris' lips, Chris' own panting clashing against his. Their lips chased each other ghostly, just short circuited and taunting movements with no actual touching. “Come on.” Tom said, backing away to grab Chris' bicep and pull him forward, smirking. “I have one in my room.”

 

Tom's unmistakable suggestion had Chris groaning and moving forward to bite the boy's bottom lip playfully, Tom giggling and pulling him out of the room. He paused to fit the key in the lock again, Chris pressing him against the door once more.

 

Chris thought he'd push him away but Tom just wiggled his arse against him, hissing at the feel of the taller man's hard on.

 

Tom led him through a set of stairs that curled against the wall, his plump ass sashaying in front of him and it was fucking improper and unfair because Chris wanted to hold those hips in his hands and press him against the wall without a care. Instead, he followed Tom around like a dutiful dog. The money felt light in his arms, weighed nothing, and for the first time Chris got the distinct feeling this wasn't his real reward. No, his reward was right in front of his face as Tom climbed the stairs ahead of him, Chris's own steps hurrying. He felt collected, a single and only goal set in his mind, going after Tom like the boy was a bitch in heat, like that tight little arsehole held an instinctual power over him.

 

Tom threw his door open, Chris following and closing it with kick. Tom took large steps inside before turning abruptly to Chris, out of breath and beautiful.

 

And it was all. Chris let go of the money, an act he hadn't controlled. Like his brain, his whole body gave up on resisting, on being rational. The notes fell around his feet on a distorted maze, like a damn ritual.

 

Tom was quick on his feet, a snake, a flash of intent on his eyes before wrapping both arms around Chris' neck, their heads bumping in their fervor. They met with a wet kiss, all tongues and teeth, liquid, sensuous. Tom's shirt rode up, a stripe of belly appearing above his tight pants, and this Chris knew because he didn't waste any time, hands coming up to secure both sides of the boy's hips, thumbs skimming over the soft skin, the wet noise of their kisses filling the room.

 

Chris tugged forcefully on the boy's jeans, the movement having Tom off the ground for the flimsiest second, whimpering inside Chris' mouth. So he liked it rough.

 

They finally broke for air, Chris ducking his head to suck and bite at Tom's neck. “Yes, yes, ahn-”, the boy's moans sounded high-pitched and breathy above him. Fuck, he moaned like a pornstar.

 

Chris's hands were all over Tom's hips, trying to pull his jeans down, not having any time to waste with zipers and buttons. But it was just too tight, it wouldn't go. He cursed, giving Tom's neck a particular sharp bite, the boy whimpering in his arms, clutching Chris' shoulders tighter. Tom tasted divine, like champagne, something sweet but rich and tasty. Chris wanted to fuck him so fucking much.

 

He grabbed two handfuls of his arse, squeezing the globes to the point of almost lifting Tom off the floor. Tom wound a hand around Chris' neck, forcing the man against his neck to bite harder, and Chris did, nibbling the skin repeatedly until it stood out in a red color, licking and sucking, assuring himself that it would stay there, his mark on Tom. Chris' hands went back to Tom's waist only to tug the hem of his shirt up, Tom lowering his head.

 

“Hold on,” Tom panted, trying to push Chris away by the shoulders half-heartedly, Chris pulling on his shirt until Tom's little nipples were visible, growling like a beast and ducking to taste them. “Wait-” Tom asked, his own words cut short by the desperate moans that climbed out of his throat. “Wait – _oh,_ a second, darling.” He pleaded as Chris sucked his right nipple, teeth wrapped snugly around it, pulling on the flesh as if Tom had any milk in there to feed him with.

 

Tom's own pants felt tighter than usual on him, the boy feeling hot and bothered inside those clothes. He had always enjoyed being naked to an extent that probably were an early hint to his sexual disposition. However, now, even though Chris was trying to take his clothes off madly, Tom wanted to give him something better. “Darling,” he breathed. “Wait,” he tried to push him off again, a weak attempt to overpower the man. “I've got something for you.”

 

Chris was now licking his other nipple, his beard sending delicious shivers down Tom's spine. The boy bucked his hips, the hot point in the center of his trousers pulsating with want. The last statement, however, didn't have Chris pausing on his ministrations but he did look up at Tom once.

 

“Chris,” Tom managed to whisper, repeating the name Chris had given to him that night at the minivan after they'd agreed to follow his plan. This had Chris looking up again, the tip of his tongue buried inside his navel.

 

Tom reached under Chris' head, taking a step back since Chris' position made it difficult for him to clutch Tom harder, and as Tom unbuttoned his jeans to reveal what he wore inside, Chris widened his eyes.

 

Tom smiled down knowingly, all his fluid sexiness returning. Chris could do nothing but remain where he was, gaping and kneeling before Tom as if the boy was some sort of magical being, slowly revealing himself in front of him, sliding his jeans down teasingly, with the same appeal he had on those times when Chris would only watch and wish he could touch.

 

Tom was wearing... purple? Oh, after they were finished here Chris would take a look inside the boy's closet. How many of these did he own? Tom bit his lip coyly, stepping out of his trousers, that were now pooled around his feet. He took his shirt off too, completing Chris' handiwork and standing there, clad in his stockings and panties and... God, out of this world.

 

“Did you like it?” Tom asked, as if Chris _hadn't or could possibly dislike it_. “You seemed to like them so much and I wanted to wear something spec-”

 

Chris stood in a flash, grabbing Tom by the hips and throwing him on the bed, the boy squealing in surprise. Chris stripped automatically, being careful to take his gun out first and deposit it on the floor, eyes never leaving Tom's body, presented so for him only, the arch of his cock tenting the panties so erotically, the black stockings clinging to his endless legs like a second skin.

 

Chris threw his trousers away without a care, the material probably landing next to Tom's discarded clothing above the money pile. His boxers were wet at the tip of his cock where his precome had leaked, Tom, splayed invitingly on the bed, eyeing the spot hungrily. “Do you like my cock, baby?” He asked, Tom nodding quickly, mouth hanging open as he continued to ogle Chris' crotch. “Yeah, good, 'cause I'm gonna stick it in you all night, you little slut.”

 

Tom gasped and arched off the bed, as if the prospect of being fucked all night long did it for him. Chris kneeled on the mattress, stopping between Tom's legs, which the boy promptly spread in invitation. Chris' mouth salivated and he rid himself of his boxers, Tom sitting up to watch as his cock bobbed out of it, angrily flushed and swollen.

 

The boy moaned, lying back against his pillows and wrapping his thighs around Chris' hips, the man's heavy body settling on top of him. Their cocks brushed, the soft material of Tom's panties the only barrier between them. Tom bucked his hips up, desperate for contact, Chris matching his pace frantically, panting over him before descending to share a wet kiss.

 

“Okay, I'm gonna tell you what I'll do to you now.” Chris breathed, the hand he had on Tom's hip bone sliding down to cup him under his panties, Tom's head arching off the pillow. “First, I'll take these off,” Chris whispered, not resisting and biting Tom's throat again, tugging his panties pointedly. Tom whimpered beneath him, eyes shut and mouth open. “Then I'll eat you out, and then, baby, only then I'll fuck you.” Chris finished, nodding to his own words before slapping Tom in the ass, the boy jumping and moaning, eyes wide as if Chris had found something of his not even he knew the existence of. “Did you hear me?”

 

“Yes.” Tom answered, voice hoarse.

 

Chris smirked, giving Tom a quick peck before kissing his nipples, lips going down, leaving a loud smack over Tom's chest with every kiss, the boy writhing impossibly. Chris stopped to lay a quick kiss atop the crown of his cock, rosy and wet from where it slipped out at the top of his panties. Tom moaned loudly, and that evil side of Chris suddenly wished his family was in the house, to listen to their perfect and pretty son and brother, screaming like that under Chris, desperate for cock.

 

But Chris was going impatient and squeezed the top of Tom's thighs as his hands descended languidly to unclasp the straps connecting his stockings, the material recoiling to snap against Tom's hips, the boy letting out a groan. This done, Chris turned to nibble on the smooth skin between thighs and crotch, teeth scratching until he had the hems of the purple panty bunched between his teeth, sliding it down as best as he could, the elastic band stretching to allow the movement.

 

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, looking down at himself, Chris' huge biceps holding his lower body, the stark constract of his white teeth as he slid the material over Tom's pale skin. It was easier said then done, and when Tom's cock was finally free Chris kneeled on the mattress and pulled the panties the rest of the way down, Tom's eyes settling once more on his impressive cock, and if Chris didn't have so many things in mind he'd love to fuck the boy's pretty mouth. But as it was, he'd stick to just... well, sticking.

 

Tom was a vision, Chris' wet dreams holding no candle to what laid before him now, Tom's head of wild, blond curls over his pillow, cheeks flushed, his eyes watching Chris dreamily, gulping, long fingers caressing his own abdomen, almost reaching his pretty cock that curved over his belly, a tuft of dark blond hair on its base, legs spread invitingly, the black stockings...

 

Chris gripped the back of his knees, folding Tom over himself, eyes landing on the timid pucker that hid behind his balls. “Look at you, baby,” He whispered, Tom humming. Chris took in a deep breath, arraging himself to access his hole, his own cock throbbing between his legs.

 

Tom wasn't possibly familiar with having a tongue lapping at his arsehole because at Chris' first touch he jumped and yelped, legs falling over Chris' back. The hitman found it endearing but now he just wanted to eat that little boy up, so he hastily directed Tom's hands back to his knees to hold himself properly, the stockings material slippery. “Like that, baby, hold yourself open for me, okay?” Tom nodded, eyes shut as he bit his lip. Chris went forward again, and now Tom's thighs shook and he let out an improper word as the tip of Chris' tongue found the tight ring of his hole, which fluttered slightly.

 

Chris groaned, pushing his face between Tom's ass cheeks, tongue coming out to prod at the borders of his entrance until Tom's noises lowered a bit, at which point he thrust his tongue inside, the wet muscle being enveloped in heat and tightness as Tom clenched, hips elevating off the mattress as he let out a long moan. He tasted like musk but not heavily so, and Chris moaned, saliva running down his chin as he licked madly, Tom whimpering and thrusting down to fuck himself on Chris' tongue.

 

Chris let go of his hole – to Tom's unhappy whine – when his jaw started to ache and his cock grew too flushed and painful. He rose to retrieve the condoms and lube he had left on his back pocket, mournfully leaving Tom to writhe on the bed.

 

He grabbed the lube quickly, hand seeking out the condoms.

 

“Is that a gun?” Tom asked from the bed, voice inquisitive but not surprised.

 

Chris turned to see Tom flopped down on his belly, humping the mattress slowly, eyes on the pistol Chris had left on the floor. “Yes.” Chris answered, finding the condoms and standing next to the bed, Tom smiling up at him from where he supported himself on his elbows, sitting with a feline grace to tug Chris' hips forward and next to his face. He brought his nimble fingers down to Chris' shaft, enjoying the sharp hiss the taller man let out.

 

“And this?” Tom asked, provocatively. “Is _this_ your gun?” His fingers wrapped around the base of Chris' cock, tugging it forward to press his soft lips against the head. Chris growled, not taking his eyes away not even he wanted to. It was just too much. Chris wanted to fuck him before the boy sucked him off, wanted to lay claim to him, his seed running down Tom's lean thighs before that sinful mouth got anywhere around his cock.

 

So he sat down beside Tom, relinquishing the warm grip on his cock, ignoring Tom's playful downturned mouth to coat his fingers with lube. Tom seemed to get the hint, smiling slyly and resting his back against the headboard, hugging his legs close to his chest like he had done before, when Chris had eaten him out.

 

Chris wasted no time and reached for his furled hole, still wet from his saliva. He pushed his middle finger in slowly, watching Tom hiss at the intrusion before taking deep and constant breaths. “Relax,” Chris said. He was tempted to ask, so he did. “Are you a virgin, little boy?”

 

Tom gulped once, twice, before nodding, eyes shut as he felt Chris' finger stretching him bit by agonizing bit.

 

Chris felt a flare of pride, of joy, of being Tom's first. He smiled genuinely, didn't he have the best job in the world?

 

Tom was taking well to the first finger so Chris tried for a second, the boy groaning and swallowing a gasp, but taking it like a champ, only looking down once to see Chris' knuckles disappering inside himself. Chris massaged his inner walls, longing for that heat to envelope his dick, scissoring and opening the passage without wanting to cause Tom any discomfort but too impatient to take it slow.

 

He did, however, take his fingers out to add more lube, eyeing Tom's hole wantonly before pushing them back in again, all three of them.

 

“Fuck!” Tom screamed, brows furrowed, mouth gaping open. Chris wrapped his other hand around the boy's cock, afraid his erection would flag completely. He wasn't usually that kind but it was the boy's first time and he felt like making it good for him in a way he would never forget it, would never forget them.

 

Tom calmed down a little, and it wasn't long before he started to meet Chris' fingers with slow and hesitant rolls of his hips. Chris decided to let go of his erection, tugging at his own for any kind of relief, the tendons in his neck visible as he groaned.

 

Tom's stockinged feet smoothed down the top of his thighs, and Chris looked up to see Tom's half-lidded eyes as the boy gave a forceful, powerful thrust down on his fingers, drawing out a tremulous moan out of himself.

 

“Do you want me to fuck, baby? Hm, is that it?” Chris asked, eyes fogged with insurmountable desire.

 

Tom didn't respond immeditely, but curled his toes inside his stockings and arched his back. “Yes,” He whispered, in what was possibly the sexiest voice Chris had ever heard. “Please. Now.”

 

Chris retrieved his fingers hastily, occupying his hands with opening the foil packet.

 

“Let me.” Tom whispered, hands reaching to take the condom out of Chris' fingers, unfolding himself to properly wrap it around his flushed cock, the feel of his fingers around it making Chris moan. The boy lowered his head until it was level with Chris' cock, looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes before placing a tiny kiss at the top, “A kiss for good luck,” he whispered, smirking and pushing Chris down on his back.

 

Chris opened his mouth to say something but Tom put a finger on his lips, hushing him quietly. Chris frowned but remained silent, wanting to see where this was going. Tom reached for the bottle of lube to coat Chris' erection, kneeling over his hips, legs encased in the stockings. “It's a pity you wouldn't let me suck you off.” He said, watching his own movements. “Such a beautiful cock you have.” He confessed, smirking when Chris grabbed his hips forcefully. “Promise me you'll let me suck you someday.” He asked, looking like he genuinely couldn't wait for it. “Promise.”

 

“I promise, baby. I promise you anything.” Chris gave in, pulling his hips until the blunt head of his cock found Tom's stretched hole. “Anything.” He whispered, pushing in.

 

Tom moaned at the first push, but managed to regulate the intrusion with the support he had on his knees, lowering himself slowly until half of Chris' cock was inside him, the tightness unbearable, Chris letting out a growl that shook his chest, blood boiling. Tom probably liked it, the animalistic sound, because he lowered himself in a single downwards thrust, yelping breathily when he bottomed out.

 

Chris gripped the bed's covers with tight fists, dying to push Tom back on the mattress and fuck him until the boy went nuts. However, Tom had steady hands over his chest as he worked himself up and down his shaft, gasping and moaning like a whore at every thrust.

 

What had Chris done to be so lucky? In no time, Tom started bouncing, fist wrapped around his own cock. Chris bucked his hips up and the boy shouted, “Holy fuck!”, losing some of his balance as he saw white, the hot cock inside his ass brushing something inside him. Chris took the opportunity to secure his hips firmly, fucking up into the wet heat, Tom's body shaking with every thrust above him, the corner of his mouth raising in bliss.

 

It was perfect, Chris was almost reaching his climax when they heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine parking downstairs.

 

Chris' eyes went wide, almost shoving Tom off him as he sat up abruptly. But Tom continued with his movements, if not a little slow now, not looking scared or even remotely remorseful. “It seems -uh, it seems my father's home.” He breathed out, eyes blinking up at the ceiling as he grabbed Chris' ribcage to continue moving.

 

They heard footsteps, hard, approaching footsteps. Chris bit on a groan, gripping Tom's hips to try and make him stop but he knew he couldn't, they couldn't. It was just too much, too good. Fuck, they hadn't locked the door! Chris was fucking the man's son beside a pile of money and a loaded gun and didn't even had the decency of locking the fucking door!

 

“Tom-” Chris began, his mind speaking above his body's needs, wanting to at least hide under the bed, cliché as it was.

 

Tom hushed him, repeating Chris' words. “Relax.”

 

The footsteps got louder and louder until it sounded like Tom's father was inside the room with them, Chris' mind going a mile per hour but not managing to let go of the heat, of Tom's fluttering walls around him.

 

It was a fucking trap.

 

“Tom?” His father called from behind the door, the shadows of his shoes visible under it. Chris froze.

 

“Yes, dad.” Tom answered, tone even, not sounding the least like he was inside his bedroom fucking himself on a murderer's cock.

 

“Everything ok?” His father asked, even his voice not enough to make Chris' erection go, enveloped as it was inside Tom's ass.

 

Tom blinked slowly, as if thinking the question over, staring back into Chris' fearful and wide eyes with complete innocence, his pale hips still working him up and down. “Yes, everything's fine.” He said, the devil. “Just reading.” He added, a hand coming up to grab the back of Chris' neck to give him a kiss, nibbling on his bottom lip until Chris gave up and kissed back, tongues twisting together.

 

Fuck, fuck, if this wasn't the sexiest thing Chris had ever experienced, the both of them fucking and kissing just behind the door, Tom's father at the other side. If the man just reached out to turn the knob- “I see. I'll meet some friends for dinner, when your mother returns let her know, please.”

 

They parted and Tom hummed, low enough that only Chris heard, winking devilishly before calling out. “Sure.”

 

“Right, thanks.” And then he was gone. He was gone!

 

What an idiot, Chris thought, laughing internally, not fucking believing. Holy shit!

 

Tom's smile widened, and he glued their chests together, his cock rubbing against Chris' abs deliciously. Chris didn't think twice, just grabbed his hips and threw him back on the bed, Tom going with the flow and spreading his legs, his feet bouncing over Chris' shoulders as the man shoved right back in, nailing the boy into the mattress, Tom's brows pinching in pleasure as he arched and writhed, Chris' hands sliding down the contours of his legs, over the stocking's material.

 

They were both a little quieter now that they knew Tom's father was inside the house, but the thrill of this knowledge also brought a new edge to it, and it took Tom two other hard thrusts that hit his prostate dead on before he moaned, hole clenching around Chris' cock as he peaked, his come splattering between their bodies, painting their chests.

 

Chris had meant to fuck the boy some more but the sight of his orgasm was too much for him, the clutch of his ass too much for him. And just like that, Chris came, warm seed filling the condom endlessly, hips still undulating long after he was done.

 

That was the best fuck of his life, period. To think it was also Tom's first fuck had something funny fluttering inside his chest, and Chris pulled out to take the condom off, Tom eyeing his come inside it as Chris tied and threw it on the floor.

 

Both lied back, panting over the sweaty sheets, huge smiles on their faces. Tom played with the drying come on his chest and Chris snatched one of his fingers to lick it off slowly, Tom's eyes slitting as he watched.

 

Tom supported himself on one elbow and slid a hand towards Chris' chest, bending his head so they could trade a warm, languid kiss, Chris' hand coming up behind him to feel the gap on his hole and follow the line of his spine, swallowing Tom's moan promptly.

 

They settled back and Chris toyed with Tom's curls, finding his hair smelled as good as he had thought it would. “Are you free every Friday, sweetheart?” He asked.

 

Tom pouted, thinking. Well, this was surely much more interesting than rugby practice. He smiled, raising a single eyebrow. “I could be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you like naughty!Tom as much as I do. He's an evil, cunning little shit in this even though he hides it pretty well. A nice reminder that things – and people - are not always as pretty on the inside as they are on the outside, a thought that keeps me sane. Kudos and comments are more than welcome, thanks again! :)


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but I couldn't control myself. Thanks for the comments and kudos! :*

The air inside the room was oddly still, heavy with the smell of old books and the sterile-like cleaness of a dentist's waiting room. Outside, a huge courtyard could be seen through the high windows, grass lively green. The grandfather clock by the far corner of the room ticked continuously and Mr. Hiddleston wondered how he hadn't gone mad already, the sound infuriating. Sitting across him, the pale and serene face of Principal Atkins stared back at him, his respectful expression looking so much like the ones of those men in the portraits hanging all around them, all wearing the same strict face, backs straightened, tailored suits and - at the time fashionable - moustaches. 

 

The principal opened his mouth, an action that seemed calculated beforehand, trying for a respectable figure with perhaps too much preciosity. “Mr. Hiddleston, it's not often  that we request your presence here.” He said from beneath his grayish tufts of hair. “In fact,  inspecting your son's files it's notable that nothing wrong could be said of him.” He waved his wrinkled hand to the top of his desk, where a slim folder lay, the name 'Thomas William Hiddleston' written in a golden font at the bottom.

 

Mr. Hiddleston grimaced. He had somewhere to be and the principal's delay was keeping him away from more important things. To make matters worse he had no idea what this whole meeting was about. Tom was a perfect student, top marks, top performance, outstanding behaviour.

 

“However, Mr. Hiddleston,” the principal continued, looking down and grimacing on his own. “It appears that's not the case.” At his narrowed eyes, the principal cleared his throat. “Your son and Mr. Lanford got into what I'd prefer to call a verbal altercation.”

 

Tom's father cocked his head as if distantly perplexed. “And Mr. Lanford would be...?”

 

“One of his classmates.” The principal supplied. “I'm not quite sure how their debate came to be as the reason to it is still shady, as tends to happen on any sort of discussion, really.” Mr. Hiddleston nodded repeatedly, in hopes the motion would set the man into arriving at the x of the question. The principal didn't seem to be perturbed as he only sighed before continuing. “What caught my attention, Mr. Hiddleston was, how can I say... Thomas' choice of words.”

 

Mr. Hiddleston just raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 

“You see, they got into an argument outside the classroom but still in school grounds. Your son, for his part, told me that Mr. Lanford threatened him by saying he would-” The principal shrugged, nose twisting. “Would hit him pretty badly. But upon speaking to M-”

 

Tom's father held his hand up, interrupting the principal's speech. “I believe this Mr. Lanford did not use these exact words, would I be correct?” He asked, wondering if the school would have the hipocrisy of condemning Tom's 'choice of words' while ignoring Tom's antagonist's.

 

Principal Atkins blinked once before responding that “No, he didn't, but Mr. Lanford shall be rightfully punished for threatening another student  _and_ for his use of improper words, do not worry, Mr. Hiddleston.” He paused, the clock ticking. “We did not request your presence here to announce any punishment to be handed to your son, Mr. Hiddleston, for we understand that he's not  to blame on this situation.” He sighed, leaning over his desk. “We called you here because your son said something very...” He drummed his fingers over the table, casting Tom's father a quick glance,  his sharp gray eyes narrowed with uncertainty . “Very peculiar in his defense to Mr. Lanford's threat.  And we thought it better to inform you and ask if you have any idea as to what he could've possibly been referring to.” 

 

Tom's father pointedly checked his wrist watch, the principal's tranquil façade falling as he struggled with his words.

 

“Because you see, Mr. Hiddleston,” he began, sliding a hand over the desk to open the folder before him. “Your son, upon being threatened by Mr. Lanford, said, and I quote: 'My boyfriend is going to kill you'.”

 

The end of the principal's sentence was met with nothing but silence. Tom's father remained expressionless, the blink of his eyes and the shallow move of his breathing the only evidence that his image hadn't froze. Quite suddenly, the man started snickering, the sound startling the principal, who gave him a funny look as Mr. Hiddleston went on, shaking his head quietly, his laughter raising on volume before it ceased completely.

 

“That's it?” Mr. Hiddleston asked, ironically. “That's what it is about? That's what I'm here for?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

 

Principal Atkins sighed. “Mr. Hiddleston, we're concern-”

 

Mr. Hiddleston puffed. “Do you realise what you've just implied?” The principal looked down, lips tight, shifting in his seat. “Tell me, Mr. Atkins,” Tom's father began. “In all the years my son has studied in this institution, did he ever step out of line?” Principal Atkins cleared his throat before quietly shaking his head. “Look at his file, please.” He gestured toward Tom's file on the man's desk. “Tell me, what do you consider his grades to be?”

 

The principal looked extremely uncomfortable while analyzing the paper, but shrugged and whispered, “Perfect.”

 

“Precisely.” Mr. Hiddleston concluded. “My son is the most dedicated, promising, attentious, intelligent, talented and perfect boy of this school. Look at him.” And the principal did, staring at Tom's face encased in the small frame of the picture at the top, the glow of blue eyes, round cheeks dimpling as he smiled proudly. “Does he look anything other than, as you said, perfect?”

 

Principal Atkins looked down at the photograph, mumbling a “No.”

 

Tom's father shook his head. “This time, Mr. Atkins, I'll let it go.” He said. “But please don't bother me again with this sort of-” He trailed off, mouth twisting in disgust, giving up and standing from his chair.

 

“Mr. Hiddleston, I did not mean to-” But Tom's father ignored him, going for the door.

 

Tom, his precious son! A _boyfriend_ who could kill- Absolutely nonsense. Mr. Hiddleston laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable.”

 

~*~

 

Brian Lanford was a stupid boy from Tom's class. His puberty had left behind red spots on his face, courtesy of his acne bout. Brian's hair fell on waves over his face and he always shared that nasal laugh with his friends whenever Tom would pass them by, the group of four to five boys clustered together in a corner, discussing alcohol and drugs, folding Playboys and passing them among each other.

 

Tom had the habit of keeping his distance from such figures, thinking he might catch something contagious, or worse, see their oily skin from up close. Strangely enough, his reluctance to share the same space as theirs was actually what had started his and Brian's little discussion.

 

They had been inside the changing room after a boring exercise on their PE class, a time Tom took to make a face at all those scrawny asses, too accostumed to superior build and beauty like Chris'. He had been just folding his clothes when Brian appeared next to him, going to fetch something on his locker, just beside Tom's, who twisted his mouth, a motion that Brian unfortunately saw. He had taunted Tom, calling him things like faggot and cocksucker, the usual. Curiously, Tom didn't remember what made him lose his head, but it had to had something to do with how Brian snatched Tom's cellphone from out of his bag when it buzzed with a fresh new message from Chris.

 

The funny thing was that Brian did not even look scared when Tom threatened him, and in fact, looked like he was about to mock him before the teacher came up to investigate and interrupted them, the whole changing room falling suddenly silent.

 

Imagining that stupid Brian would get away with it, that he didn't believe Tom when he said he had a boyfriend that _could_ kill him if he so wished had Tom's blood boiling. But he knew his boundaries and didn't want to expose Chris. Not more than necessary. 

 

But well, he could show him off, couldn't he?

 

~*~

 

Tom knew his father had been called to the school just the other day, but he made no comment upon arriving home. However, now, at dinner, while Tom tried to slip his broccoli into Emma's plate without her noticing, his mother spoke up.

 

“What was it that Tom's school wanted, darling?” She asked, breaking the serene silence that always reigned over the dinner table.

 

Tom flicked his eyes back to his father at the head of the table, but quickly looked away. The man was chewing slowly, as always, but the underside of his eye twitched and the corner of his mouth shook just so that Tom knew whatever had transpired had been unpleasant. For a moment longer he was kept suspended in his own fear until his father just shook his head and waved it away, tight lips sipping from his tall glass of water.

 

“Nothing important, dear.” He said, going back to his food.

 

Tom gulped and went back to his food when Sarah gave him a confused look. Inside his pocket, his cellphone vibrated and as his mother swiflty changed topics he reached a hand to unlock it. Chris had answered him with a quick ' _ok, baby_ ', and Tom smiled secretively before sending back a kissy face. 

 

~*~

 

When the bell rang Tom quickly stood from his seat, the rest of the class doing the same as their Latin teacher sighed. He was quick to shove his things inside his backpack, subconsciously tracking Brian's presence at the back of the classroom. As usual, Tom strolled down the hallways, Brian and his friends' loud talk following far behind.

 

Tom stepped out into the pavement but this time did not look for Mr Smith, as he had mumbled an excuse this morning, saying he'd have to stay until later for a project. If Mr Smith was beginning to grow suspicious of his now fairly frequent occupations he didn't say a thing, only nodded. 

 

Tom hastened his steps and took the right corner, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder to see that yes, Brian was following. Differently from Tom, Brian didn't have a ride,  but rode a motorcycle that he parked in a corner far away from the school's street.

 

And just at the end of the street, there he was, Chris. Leaned against his sleek black car, sunglasses on, hair slicked back, arms crossed over his chest, he transmitted a dangerous aura. Tom smiled instantly, crossing the street and wrapping thin arms around his neck, Chris securing his waist with both hands as they kissed longly. He was warm and solid, Tom loving the rasp of his beard on his chin. Chris held him tightly to his chest, delightling on his muffled moan, delving his tongue into the citrus taste of his mouth. 

 

“Gods, I missed you, sweetheart.” Chris rumbled, darting kisses over his cheek and behind his ear, playing a familiar descent toward his neck. Tom giggled and inclined his head, watching the lone figure walking down the street behind them.

 

“Darling,” he called, hugging Chris' shoulders to try and detach him from his neck. “Darling, wait, that's the one I told you about.” Tom whispered, giving a faint little moan as Chris nipped gently before looking up.

 

B rian was walking down the street boredly, a suspicious fag lit between his fingers. He was looking ahead disinterestedly but probably felt Tom and Chris' eyes on him in that same way that someone always felt like being watched, because he turned  tired eyes their way before his gait slowed, face visibly paling as his expression turned scared, though he tried to hide it. 

 

“Is that him?” Chris asked, eyes boring into the boy, who swallowed and hastened his steps upon studying his boyfriend's full profile. “That slim little shit?” Chris drew away from Tom and stepped to cross the street.

 

Tom gripped his arm hastily. “Darling, no, please.” He tugged Chris closer to him but his boyfriend  escaped his grasp and moved forward. Brian  halted, eyes wide and stuck on Chris, who approached him slowly, brows furrowed and eyes stormy. Tom bent his head to hide his smile. 

 

B rian gave two steps back when Chris finally crossed the street, his back almost colliding with the brick wall behind him.  Tom bit his lip to watch as Chris crowded him, whispering something that made the boy pale, stammering something back. Chris pointed back at Tom at the other side of the street, Brian's eyes following the movement and settling on Tom quickly before swallowing nervously.

 

Tom gasped when suddenly Chris grabbed Brian's collar with both hands, slamming him against the brick wall, the boy's pale face reddening.  He hissed over Brian's face, the boy shutting his eyes and nodding, coughing.

 

Tom wondered if now was not the time to interfer, if perhaps Chris would hurt Brian too seriously, but he was having way too much fun watching his boyfriend making that asshole submit like that. He eyed the street up and down but no one besides Brian took that route out of school. When he turned back to Chris, Brian was crouched, head bent, shoulders shaking. Tom crossed his arms over his chest, Chris crossing the street back to give him a loud peck. 

 

“Get in the car, baby.” He whispered, stepping around to open the driver's door, Tom shooting a last glance from over his shoulder at Brian, looking at Tom with frightened eyes. Tom smiled and entered the vehicle, Chris turning the ignition on and swerving the car into the street, the leather soft under Tom's ass. 

 

Not five seconds later, Tom started laughing. Chris eyed him inquisitively and smiled.

 

“What did you tell him?” Tom asked, dying to know.

 

Chris shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. “He's the Lanford's boy, isn't he?”

 

Tom's smile faded slowly. He had never told Chris Brian's last name, or even his first, when thinking about it. “How do you know that?”

 

Chris grinned but didn't say anything else, his usual reaction to when Tom asked about something concerning his job. That was the black vein of their relationship: Tom having to avoid his own curiosity to finally ask Chris the machinations that included his family and a bunch of other high names into his shady line of work. Despite the uncomfortable topic, Tom was feeling grateful, and told Chris so.

 

Chris hummed. “ You'll feel even more grateful when I give you my gift.”

 

Tom grinned and reached out to stroke Chris' hardening length over the handbrake, the hitman taking in a sharp breath.

 

“What time do you have to be back home?” He asked, Tom leaning over the seat to bit his earlobe, receiving a reproachful “Tooom” in warning. 

 

“That depends on your gift.” He giggled, Chris reaching around to smack his ass for his trouble.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thaaaaaaanks for reading! I'll try to post the other chapter as soon as I can write a proper sex scene. Also, I found out that chapters with almost no character interaction are easily done but also very boring to read, I'll try to get better. 
> 
> You can leave a kudo if you like it and a comment if you love it or hate it. If you love it _and_ like it a lot you can talk to me on tumblr (potentialfordisaster.tumblr.com) and make me even happier :)


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